


The Man With The Button

by phminehalo



Series: Kate [1]
Category: Supernatural, Tumblr (Fandom)
Genre: Clay - Freeform, Dean - Freeform, F/M, SPN - Freeform, Salt, Sam - Freeform, School, sidgel, silver - Freeform, staples, that was easy, willyoupressthebutton.com
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 22:51:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phminehalo/pseuds/phminehalo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hi, I’m uh a quite abnormal teenaged girl. My name is Kate, and I’m 16. I spend most of my time behind a door, in a-- mostly-- dark room. The only form of light in this box is either my laptop screen, or my phone. If you were to look up my browser history it would be mostly ‘tumblr.com/dashboard’. Mostly, I am a fandom blog by the name of Matt-Winchester-Living-at-221b. I don’t go out much, and frankly, I don’t fill right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kate

Hi, I’m uh a quite abnormal teenaged girl. My name is Kate, and I’m 16. I spend most of my time behind a door, in a-- mostly-- dark room. The only form of light in this box is either my laptop screen, or my phone. If you were to look up my browser history it would be mostly ‘tumblr.com/dashboard’. Mostly, I am a fandom blog by the name of Matt-Winchester-Living-at-221b. I don’t go out much, and frankly, I don’t fill right.   
I would never say this on Tumblr, because I’d just get bombarded with things saying that I’m “beautiful,” or that I “shouldn’t appeal to those photoshopped models.” Believe me, I’m not out to go puke in a toilet, or skip breakfast-- way too important. But I still don’t fill! My shirts never seem to fit. Either they are too tight, or too saggy. And I don’t want to wear more revealing things either; my lower belly isn't a thing to behold. I wish I could wear tight fitting clothes, and expose a little bit of my hip, but I can’t. And don’t say that I don’t have to look like that, or that I’m good the way I am, because I don’t feel that way. I want to have to boys get caught staring off into space at me. I want to be that girl that sits up straight and smiles, but keeps looking forward, when a boy stares at me. I like that power. I wish my hair wouldn’t get so tangled and frizzy. I wish I had the skin tone to show my arms. I wish that my current state would make boys sit and stare uncontrollably. But it doesn’t.   
Instead, I have to stop. I have a little thing called school, that I have to constantly remind myself of the lie that it’s important. I reblog a few more posts, and sigh as I collectively pull myself off the chair, and walk to the door. I pass my mom as I reach the door. She asks me to try to look a little happier, as I slowly passed her. I simply responded, “but I’m not.” She frowned at me, but I didn’t even look over. I turn the handle to the garage door and push it open, and pull out my keys. I unlock the door with the push of the button. I open the back seat door and swing my bag in the car. After I shut it, and open the driver’s door, I sit down. I glance over at the can of salt and silver letter opener in the center console-- I’m a fandom blog okayyy--, as I glide the key into the ignition. I habitly push down the brake as I turn the key. I don’t actually know if you need to do this with my car, I was just told to do so.   
I drive along, and somehow somewhere along the line, I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere, because I had no frikin’ idea where I was. The “oh shit. I’m gunna be late” sets in. Then, out of seemingly nowhere, a voice behind me says “oh, don’t worry, you’re not going to be late.” I dart my head around and slam on the breaks.   
“The fu-!” I exclaim, before he motions his hand to say ‘no no’.  
“You don’t need to freak out.” He says.  
“Well how the fuck can I trust you then?” I say, him not all too pleased to hear a swear and sighs.  
“Because-- I’m here to help you.” He says, briefly pausing after he looked at me in the eyes, deadlocked, sternly, before shortly looking away as he finished his sentence. “You see, your life isn’t quite amazing, and I can tell. You deserve better. I can help.”  
I eye the letter opener and the salt in the center console.  
“Oh, go ahead, I’m not one of them, they give less of a-- shit-- about you.” he says pausing before he forced himself to swear, just to appeal to me. “Go ahead. Run your tests. After all, you won’t be late.”


	2. The Man

I pull out the silver blade and quickly slice him with it, on the arm. No burning. I throw it back and grab the can of salt. While looking him straight in the eye, I sprinkle salt on him. No effect. I look at the sidgel I finally finished, in real blood. I’m too fucking chicken to cut myself to make it, so I had to add to it after every time I got a paper cut. Now was an exception, but I needed real evidence this guy even had powers.  
“Ah, proof.” He says, reading my mind. “Here.” he says, snapping his fingers.  
A strand of hair falls from my forehead, and down in front of my eyes. It was simple hair. Good hair at that. It was in three colors. My normal brown surrounding a lighter brown-blonde. It wasn’t frizzy, or tangled. My eyes widen, and I grab it with my hands. My hair didn’t do this. I look back at him, still holding the strand. I glance back a few times and grab the letter opener, and quickly slice the bit under the palm of my hand. I feel blood squeeze out and I grab the piece of paper off the passenger seat floor. I dropped it on the seat and slammed down. I shut my eyes, expecting something to happen. I creeped them open, and looked over where he was sitting. He was just sitting there cross-legged. I swung my eyes open, and leaned back, confused.  
“How the hell?” I let out.  
“Well, for starters I’m no Angel, or even a simple demon. I don’t hail from The Mother either.”  
I was looking at my bleeding hand as he talked, and I glanced up for a second, and he swafted each of his fingers past each other; shuffling his fingers. I glanced down, and the cut began to slip back into place, until it met with a scar. It soon faded too.  
“And I can’t be killed. God wanted it that way. He would come back for one thing, and one thing only: to make some lives happier.” he said, as he again swafted his fingers, letting another bit of hair turn, behind my ear. “...and if I were not to do my duty,” he continued as the strand fell out from behind my ear. “...he would end me.” He ended. “Now, I can’t simply sit here change every strand of hair on every sad teen’s head until they are satisfied. So, a solution. God would not let me do this without a yes or no question. So, will you let me help you to help yourself?” He asked.  
“Since things are real, like I already didn’t believe that before, but I’m going to have to think about what the best survivors of this world would say.” I state.  
“And…?” He asked.  
“You can read my mind, you know why.” I state, defending my silence.  
“Another rule from daddy. Your answer is secret.” He responded.  
“Dean and Sam.” I say.  
“Who?” He asked.  
“Winchester, brothers. T.V. show, hunters. I’m sure it’s been mentioned when you’ve been up there before.” I said, looking up.  
“Yes…” He faded off, remembering.  
“They’d say ‘no.’” I quickly said.  
“What?” He asked.  
“They'd think it’s some monster feeding off this shit, and short story, it doesn’t end well for me.” I explain.  
“Ah, yes, wise. I’ll give you some time to think it over. And you can always take this back.” He explained, again snapping his fingers.  
Suddenly, he wasn’t lying. I was driving again, right where I was before he came. I glance down at the clock to find that no time had passed by. I glanced up to the mirror on the visor. My hair was more beautiful than he had left it. Colored highlights everywhere, and perfectly styled to my personality: troubled and punk, with a side of fandom.


	3. Keary

Somehow, I didn’t freak out. I drive to school and don’t die. Huh. I get to the spot where me followees, shipmates, mis [h] amigos, companions, whatevah they are, and I sit down. I whip out my phone, and sit next to Endie. She looks over at me.  
“Wow.” She says.  
“What?” I say, still looking down.  
“Your...hair!” she exclaims.  
“Oh.” I say.  
I look forward to see Keary, one of our groupies standing there, in awe. He was full on jaw-dropped.   
“What? It can't be that bad.” I say, breaking the silence.  
“Oh, it’s not bad.” Caroline Kanter, the genius girl in our group comes up behind Keary, and latches onto him. “And it looks like Keary over here has had the tiniest crush on you, and the hair, oh, damn you look fine.” Keary just blushes.   
“Whatever just sit down.” I say as they both sit down next to me, Keary, uh, more off to the side.  
“No seriously girl, when’d you learn how to do hair like that?” She asked.  
“I didn’t. A friend did it.” I say.  
“Oh! A friend friend?” She asked.  
“WHat! NO!” I snapped. I wasn’t lying either. Wait why are you fighting me? YOU WERE THERE.  
“Oooohhh!!!” She squealed.  
Of course I didn’t see this, but poor ‘ol Keary heard this and simply looked down in shame. I should have noticed. God damn, that would hurt. He wasn’t bad himself, either. He was on my list of people I would date, but I’ve never gone and done the thing before. He was a superwholockian, and not too bad looking. I’ve seen the prettier girls dating uglier guys.  
I responded by looking back down at tumblr and pretending to not be thinking. I must have blushed, because Caroline continued to laugh at me.  
What the fuck was I going to do when he came back? Go with him? My life hasn’t been so shit yet. It’s actually been good, so far. The rest of the day people began to chit-chat about me, and my new hair.


	4. Dan The Man

I got in the car again the next day. Again, about halfway through the drive, I found myself not knowing where I was going.   
“So.” he said, as I kept driving. “You come to school one day with fabulous hair, and you get noticed by your friends, and you even have a crush.” He said. “Nothing?” He said, after I paused with no response. “Well, let me explain to you how this works. You agree-- here how about this. You push this button.” He says and he suddenly has a big red button. “A big red button. Yes-- can see into the future too. Well, as long as it is about you.” God damn him. “and you get to learn how to literally morph yourself to your wish. You could even look like a dragon if you wanted. But, as with everything, there is a catch. They will always know its you, as in, you cannot impersonate things. They’ll see right through it, but you will look like it. Kinda like your “Perception Filter.” He explained. “That is what you want, isn’t it?”  
I shut my eyes. I exhale. Am I going to do this? I don’t see why not.  
“Sorry dean-y-poo.” I say as I turn and push the big red button.   
“That was easy.” The button says.  
I look up at him and shake my head.  
“What? He has a sense of humor.” he says.  
“It might have helped to tell her I exist beforehand.” The button said.  
“Huh? Really?” He asked.  
“Anyway, I’m craig. I seemed to notice this fuckface didn’t tell you his name either. He’s Dan.” The button explained.  
“‘Dean-y-poo’?” Dan asks.  
“What. I love that dude.” I say.  
“Is his appearance pleasing to you?” He says.  
“heheh yes.” I squeal.  
Dan quietly morphs into Dean.   
“No.” I say. “creepy.”  
“oh?” he says, switching back into the old man.  
“I can’t trust some monster who I agreed to work with against Dean’s wishes, who now looks like Dean. Makes me feel like I betrayed him, and you’re him.” I explain, as he snaps his fingers.  
We appear in a room with a mirror. It actually just looked like a small apartment room with one singular mirror, about six feet tall and narrow.   
“Now, I’m going to run an exercise with you.” He explains, as he appears sitting off the edge of the bed. “I’m going to ask you to tell me what bits to change, and how to change them. I want you to mold me like clay. You are going to need to be sexually comfortable with this image. It also removes the creepy old dude factor.” He explains.  
“Okay.” I say, approaching him. “I have like zero artistic talent.”  
“You wont need it. I’m a mind reader, remember?” he explains.  
“Alright.”   
“Go ahead. Mold.” He says.  
I touch his nose, and it ripples like water. I run my hand down the wrinkled side, flattening it. I remove my hand to find a perfectly smoothed nose. I wave my hand by the right eye, and curve downward and stop at the bottom of the eye. When I back away, there lies a pure blue eye, untouched by fault. A smooth ridge below the eye, that slips into a wide cheekbone. The lips melt upward, perking the very fabric of space and time. The chin lays out a bit, not too pointy, but enough to make an impact. I run my hands down his body, and smooth down his feet.   
“You said I have to be sexually comfortable with you, right?” I ask.  
“Yes. It will get embarrassing.”  
I slap my hand downtown and leave a perky smile. He raises his arms up looking down.  
“I said SEXUALLY COMFORtABLE, NOT SEXUALLY PREFERABLE!” He exclaims.   
“I don’t know. I don’t trust a little guy.” I say, smiling.


End file.
